


Myths and Legends

by EssytheWolf



Category: Enderal (Video Game)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Angst, Friendship, Gen, One Shot Collection, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-13
Updated: 2018-09-24
Packaged: 2018-12-21 05:22:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,638
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11937198
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EssytheWolf/pseuds/EssytheWolf
Summary: The Prophet encounters many obstacles through their travels. Bandits, mad animals, elementals and undead roam nearly every corner of a chaotic country. But there are others that make their travels even more harrowing or, in some cases, downright terrifying. These stories may not be just stories after all…Based on the quest of the same name in SureAI's Enderal: The Shards of Order.





	1. The Blind Miner

**Author's Note:**

> Journal Entry of the Quest:  
> “On my travels, I got my hands on a book series of the old Endralean Archmagister Gawayn Girathû. In those he lists several legends about certain creatures which roam the lands since quite some time – who knows, perhaps one or another has some truth in it?”
> 
> A take on how my Prophetess meets these creatures of legend. The encounters happen at different points during the main story so some spoilers abound!

The Foxhand vault key was exactly where Sila said it would be: tucked behind a barrel right next to the entrance to The Tarpits. Leanara was surprised. She had convinced the dust-addicted woman that if her brother Milbert stopped paying for her quarters in the barracks, she would have nowhere to sleep in relative peace. Sila huffed in resignation and disclosed the location. It seemed too easy. She had expected a fight and when none came, she expected not to find the key. Sila had clearly been under the influence, if the red eyes and twitchy hands were any indication, but perhaps not enough to clout her reason completely?

Whatever the case, she had the little bronze key now. Sticking around in the Undercity would not be prudent to one’s health but curiosity washed over Lea. The Tarpits, she heard, were a series of caverns where miners extrapolated various precious ores and minerals. Rumors also circled around an Endralean legend within the depths of the pits. A quick peek wouldn’t take too long would it? It wasn’t like she hadn’t been sidetracked before to see a ruin, a cave, or some other out of the way location she shouldn’t really be looking at for her own safety. With her arcanists fever within (relatively) safe parameters, according to the Nehrimese Mage Lishari, she felt even surer of her newfound magic.

She pushed through the wooden doors into a massive cavern. The outcropping she entered overlooked multiple tiers of caves and equipment. Chinks of pickaxe on rock echoed in rhythmic song. Some miners were on this outcrop pushing carts of iron, corundum and malachite. Dark clothed men and women watched them with knives scraping dirt off their nails or boots. They looked at her, eyes narrowed and posture rigid. She stopped when one approached her, eyeing her short stature.

“You in the wrong place missy. Unless you working the mines, get the fuck out,” he sneered.

She didn’t bat an eye, “No one said I couldn’t come in here.”

“You haven’t been here long have you? Fucking sun child. If you know what’s good for you, you’ll leave now.”

“Come on mate, I won’t turn down a whore that comes in!” a second voice called. He grinned at her. He was missing some teeth and what teeth he did have were deeply yellow stained.

“Is the story of the Blind Miner true? I can't imagine that a vengeful undead creature is good for business down here,” she said, plowing past their comments.

The two men looked at each other, surprise flitting over their dirt-covered faces. Then the yellow-teeth man grinned again and nodded.

“Oh aye! Said to roam the lower caverns past the commons forever wandering and killing the unlucky fools that get in its way. But no one is stupid enough to go lookin’ for it.”

“Every now and then a mangled body turns up,” said the first, his scowl back on his face, “Poor sods wander too far and get lost.” He shrugged.

“Shit, if you lookin’ to go down there for some dumb legend, you either stupid or…well a stupid wench is what you are,” yellow-teeth cackled.

Lea narrowed her eyes at him, “But you just said…”

“Oh aye! But cave spiders and other nasty critters are down here and sometimes they just spit the miners back our way. The Blind Miner is what you said. A story.”

Lea shuddered at the image. But a curious creature she was and she wouldn’t be deterred just yet.

“Oh well…the legend is popular after all,” she waved her hands in a dramatic flourish, “but you're right, I'm not here for that. I just came down here to retrieve something for a friend. Said some idiot stole their strongbox key.”

The first man’s brown creased even more, "Bullshit."

Yellow-teeth shrugged, “Happens all the time, not sure why a surface dweller like you would care.”

“Does it matter?” she pressed, “I’d be in and out before you know it. Not your problem anyway.”

“Fine. But it’s your ass in the fire if something happens to you,” the first turned and resumed his post. Yellow-teeth snorted then groaned. Something about visiting the Silver Cloud after his shift.

Lea quickly left the two men and entered a small alcove with a platform at the far side. There was no one there. The platform squeaked ominously when she stepped on it and shuddered when she pulled the lever. Slowly, she descended into another massive cavern. More ‘guards’ sat along the walls or paced the wooden platforms. A huge hole swallowed many of the miners working on small ledges within it. The platform hit the bottom with a resounding thud. A few looked her way but she was already on the move. It didn’t matter, the miners that looked saw only a flash of honey-colored hair before it vanished into the commons across the way.

The commons was tiered like the caves. Stairs led to tunnels and small rooms with several beds and only a few of those had chests or end tables. Some probably had to share due to the cramped space. She descended another flight of creaky wooden stairs and exited back into the stone. The tunnel only led one way to her right. Against one wall was the carved walls of the commons and the other was raw, untouched stone. Ore veins shimmered in the dim torchlight.

That was strange, she thought, that this area just beyond the commons appeared to be mostly whole. She crept further down the tunnel then paused when something heavy shuffled ahead of her. She crept again and another scuffle of something heavy, like metal being dragged across stone, echoed through the tunnel. Then another sound. Guttural, primal. Every move she made, those sounds answered. She crouched behind a boulder and leaned over. She stifled a gasp though it wasn’t enough to not make the creature ahead turn its head to her. Or what was left of it.

It was a Lost One, a rotting creature of undeath, but taller and dressed in dirty rags. Its skin was grey and cracked with mustard yellow boils all over its chest, arms and legs. Atop its head were more bloody rags and its face…there was no face. Just a gaping mouth with rows upon rows of jagged, sharp teeth. In one hand was a large, black axe; the source of the scraping as the axe head left marks into the stone. It groaned, its mouth contorting but never truly closing.

Lea slowly backed towards the commons which was made only harder when every step echoed through the damn tunnel. The Blind Miner turned and shuffled towards her. It groaned lowly and dragged its axe behind it.

“Shite. Shite. Shite,” she breathed. Curiosity really was going to kill the cat on this one. The back of her foot smacked a small rock, sending it rolling. It sounded ten times louder than it should have.

Everything stilled. She held her breath. The Blind Miner inclined its head. Then, it roared, even its teeth rattled in its mouth when the wet, guttural sound filled the tunnel.

She ran. She could hear it behind her, heavy thuds and screeching metal on stone. She barged into the commons and slammed the door shut behind her. Said door rattled as the Blind Miner ran into it, sending her careening forward. Its axe bit deep, spraying splinters all over her. She clambered to her feet and grabbed a nearby end table, dragging it desperately in front of the door that was slowly being mutilated. Another swing of the axe nearly caught her face.

She yelped and abandoned the commons. She could still hear its guttural groaning and she didn’t stop running until she was back on the surface.


	2. The Gargantuan Lizard

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Journal Entry of the Quest:  
> “On my travels, I got my hands on a book series of the old Endralean Archmagister Gawayn Girathû. In those he lists several legends about certain creatures which roam the lands since quite some time – who knows, perhaps one or another has some truth in it?”
> 
> Perhaps not all are as evil as we believe them to be.

How long had it been? Days? Weeks? A few hours? Under the blazing sun, stumbling over the sand dunes and rocky crevices, Leanara couldn’t tell. The heat alone bore down on her like a pile of stones attached to her hands and feet. Sweat poured down her body in rivulets, making the linen beneath the leather cling to her olive skin. The sand was everywhere. On her face, in her clothes, her hair, her boots. She fumbled for her water skin and drank what precious few drops were left.

What a blazing mess. Literally.

She’d left the ruined town of Silvergrove, uncaring of where she went. Through the jungles into the sands, heading south back to Duneville. Or she thought it was south. The heat and the pain shuffled her thoughts to what was directly in front of her. She clutched a necklace tight in her fist. She didn’t dare let it go while at the same time repressed the urge to throw the cursed thing as hard as she could. The Black Stone within pulsed quickly against her palm. Or was it her own heartbeat that it mimicked?

She climbed yet another dune and spotted a half buried structure in the sands. It looked like a house. The walls that were visible were bleached and cracked. She stumbled and fell forward into the coarse sand. A weak sob turned into a coughing fit from inhaling a mouthful of it. She turned over on her back and laid in full blast of the sun which was mercifully beginning to set. The sands would turn cold but it would be preferable to the intense heat.

Her eyes clenched shut but the little boy’s pyre burned within her eyelids. It was stupid. She was stupid. Stupid for her promises, stupid for believing that something could go right. And stupid for not returning to Ark as soon as possible. She had a teleport scroll to take her back but a painful tug-of-war played on her heat-stripped mind and erratic heart. She should go back, return the last Black Stone to the Beacon and wipe her hands clean of all this. No that wouldn’t be possible…Grief rolled over her like the prickly winds of the dunes. That and death since she foolishly wandered the Powder Desert instead of following her rational side of the war.

"People are only idealists until it starts to hurt," Jespar had said. Yet another wisdom of The Wise Hermit. And she supposed, now in her setting delirium, he was right.

The ground rumbled. Steps of something huge making the coarse sands reverberate uncomfortably beneath her. She did not move and kept her eyes firmly closed. Perhaps it was yet another Boneripper; huge anthro-lizard creatures that plagued the area. The beasts only came out at night and lo the sun was cresting on the horizon. The ground rumbled.

Perhaps the Grandmaster would send a search party to find her. It would be no good to him if his Prophetess didn't return triumphant. Maybe they would find her corpse eaten with nothing but the bones to be bleached in the sun. Maybe they would need to search the dung piles for the Black Stone the Boneripper would most likely eat then crap out some days later. Or maybe it would absorb the power of the Black Stone and become an even madder creature with unholy magic on top of its long claws and jagged teeth.

The ground rumbled. Her teeth clattered in her mouth. A shadow passed over her. A waft of moist air washed over her face. Strong, earthy smells assaulted her nose. The heat of the setting sun briefly taken from her face. She slowly opened her eyes. At first she couldn’t tell what she was looking at. The shadow cast over the huge…thing above her made it difficult to discern anything besides that it wasn’t human and had to be at least five times her size. She stared up at it, the thing doing the same. Slowly, very slowly, she rolled onto her stomach and looked up to get a better view.

It was a creature she had never seen and had no knowledge of ever hearing about. With shadows no longer obscuring it from here, she could see that the behemoth stood on four, stumpy legs. Its body was scaly, though its muscles rippled behind muddy green hues and browns. But what truly set it apart was its head. The creature had three large horns, one between its nostrils and two above the brows of its moist brown eyes. A large crest created a pseudo background for the ivory horns, perhaps for protection.

No. No, that wasn’t true. She had read about a mysterious giant that roamed the Powder Desert. The poor creature had been transported here by an entropist mage and was abandoned after the mage predictably met its end after teleporting the creature into a cage that was too small for it. He was crushed under his own ambition.

She stared into its eyes and the creature bowed its head further. The horn on its nose nearly touching her brow but the move was not hostile. She could see the sadness swimming in those dark pools. The loneliness of having to survive in an alien and unforgiving environment. But it survived.

A spark passed between them. It seemed to know what lay in her being. A familiarity moved her heart beyond her own lamentations.

"You’ve been all alone out here too,” she said, though it came out as a dry croak.

She reached for it. The creature sniffed her hand then slowly, gently leaned into her palm. The scales on its snout were surprisingly smooth, like pebbles on a riverside, and she saw the nostrils widen and breathe in her scent.

_Not anymore. We move on._

It retreated from her, lumbering to a nearby cactus. She watched with rapt attention as it nuzzled one of the fruit that sprouted on it. Using its horns, it skewered the cactus then tore it so the top half had been lopped off with a heavy swing of its head. Bright green, wet flesh was revealed and the creature ate from it. The apple that had been on its side rolled down to her. She tucked the Black Stone into her satchel, her grip surprisingly lax now on it, and gingerly picked up the fruit. She sat up, grunting at the monumental effort from her exhausted limbs. She hissed, feeling the little thorns on the fruit prick at her skin. She set it down then grabbed a knife on her belt. She used part of her cloak to grab the fruit then began to saw at it, crudely removing the skin to reveal the softer fruit within. Probably not the best way but her mouth watered at the thought of consuming it regardless. It took longer than expected but she managed to peel and pull out a wet, golden core. She took a large bite and squeaked in surprise as juices ran down her mouth and chin. She closed her eyes, savoring the sweetness on her tongue. 

The sun set completely and a cooler breeze swept across her face. The creature had moved on, lumbering up to cross the dune. It paused then turned to look back at her. She licked her fingers, sand, juice and all and returned its look with a small smile. It dipped its head then turned and crossed the hill.

Stars dotted the sky when she finally stirred herself to action. She felt, not rejuvenated or invigorated but sated with enough strength to think and make a decision. Rummaging through her satchel she pulled out the teleport scroll. Her heart still felt heavy but it no longer felt like dead weight. She doubted anyone would believe her if she tried to explain what she’d seen. Not that they would truly care for such things now. So she wouldn’t. She also once more held the Black Stone. It still thrummed in her hands but she wouldn’t be holding it much longer. 

"I am so sorry," she murmured. It was meant for no one in particular and everyone who had come into her life. No one would hear it save the giant lizard that roared low, lonely note in the distance. 

It was time to finish this. It was time to move on.


	3. The Ash Widow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “On my travels, I got my hands on a book series of the old Endralean Archmagister Gawayn Girathû. In those he lists several legends about certain creatures which roam the lands since quite some time – who knows, perhaps one or another has some truth in it?”
> 
> A tour through Ark's Museum takes a conversation to an unexpected place.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Mentions of abuse but not explicitly described.

“Are you sure this is a good idea?”

“Sure as I’m sure that we need to at least get out of the Sun Temple.”

The South Quarter buzzed with midday talk. Leanara had managed to convince Calia to step outside of the Scoula for the day and take a stroll through Ark. They did not wear their armor so their new Keeper status would not bring attention. However, many gave second glances as they passed. Most, Lea noticed, were directed towards Calia. Perhaps it was the swirling mark on her left cheek or the spread of rumors that the “witch” had become a Keeper. She also noticed the blank look on her new friend’s face.

“You don’t come out very often do you?” Lea asked, hoping to strike another conversation.

“No…” she began slowly, “I’ve stayed within the Temple to train and study. As I’ve said before, I was always an outsider. Why tempt the simple minded and superstitious even further?”

Lea had no answer. As innocent as this was, the rumors never truly left and it would be just their luck that someone would say something to them. She steered the sad girl to a building close to the Myrad Tower.

“The Ark Museum?” she mused, curiosity coloring her voice.

“I’ve never been in here,” Lea shrugged, “and it seemed interesting enough…” 

“I’ve been in here before as a Novice,” said Calia as they entered the cavernous space filled with antiquities. She pointed to the large statue at the far end of the building. It depicted a strong-looking man wearing a suit of armor similar to the Grandmaster’s that pointed out sternly towards them. “We learned about the Lightborn Malphas and our roles as Keepers should we pass the trial.”

“’And she declared even more of Malphas’ will: The temple shall host those who wield a sword in the name of Malphas, to guard the Path-Abiding ones in Enderal as well as those who record and proclaim his teachings, against their foes.’ Verse 79.”

Lea tilted her head towards Calia. She remembered their conversation in the Curarium and gently nudged the other girl with her elbow.

“Well, here you are.”

Calia gave a rare, half smile, “Here I am.”

They continued to peruse the artifacts in the museum. A polished lute propped on a pedestal. A stuffed Lost One in old rusted armor. A partial mammoth skeleton in snow (“That snow can’t be real, can it?”).

Lea stopped at a display case. Within was a gnarled claw of a creature she had never seen before. Calia peered over her shoulder.

“The Claw of Dal’Gorek,” she said simply.

“This thing was a human hand?” Lea asked, thin eyebrows raised.

Calia hummed, “Let me think…Have you heard of ‘The Ash Widow’? It’s one of the more famous of Enderalean myths.”

Lea nodded earning a surprised grunt from the other woman.

“Did you know it’s based on a real tragedy?”

 Lea shook her head.

“Dal’Gorek was a known name many years ago. The Count lorded over the Sun Coast and maintained the trading post, Three River Watch. The story however, focuses on the Count’s son. Rumor spread of the son’s cruelty and treatment of those below the sublime path. His wife, whose name was lost to time, could only watch as the mistreatment was only directed to the servants.”

“Did she not stand up to him?”

“No. Most women in nobility bow their heads to their husbands.”

“That’s…”

“Disappointing, yes,” Calia sighed then continued, “the story goes in tandem with the myth. A young servant girl is,” she paused again, hesitating on how to word it.

“Harrassed.” Lea’s voice was flat. The shafted light into the museum was suddenly too bright and too sharp.

Calia frowned and noted the sudden, deep lines on her friend’s brow.

“You choose your words carefully. Yes, by the husband. One night, the wife, curious of the servant girl and her husband’s behavior, hides in the wardrobe and witnesses the girl be… _handled_ …then injured. This caused a magical anomaly that transformed the Count’s hand into that”—she pointed to the claw—“and as punishment, he set the servant and his wife ablaze with an oil lamp.”

Lea’s face darkened but motioned for Calia to finish. An itch grew up her arms and neck.

“The official story is that Dal’Gorek’s son tried to save his wife when the servant attacked with wild magic, causing the loss of his hand. The servants, who knew of the son’s cruelty, said otherwise but were not believed.”

“Of course not.” Lea’s response was clipped. “The wife and servant girl were merged within the magical fire and created The Ash Widow right?”

“That’s how the myth goes yes.” Calia replied slowly, a concerned frown touched her lips. “It is said that if you bring the claw to the castle they once inhabited, the Ash Widow would appear.”

Silence descended over them both and Calia watched Lea’s hard stare at the claw. The harsh lines that appeared over her olive skin were startling on a small, soft face.

After a minute, Lea spoke up again. “The castle…is it the abandoned one at the Sun Coast? Castle…Golden Ford?”

“Yes, though I’m sure you’re wondering why it’s called that?” She gently touched her friend’s shoulder and guided her away from the claw. Lea glanced back at it and shuddered. Calia tightened her grip.

“Well, Dal’Gorek’s legacy ended with the son as he produced no heir. Another family moved into the castle, Dal’Goldenford, hence the name that stuck.”

The two women exited the museum. The fresh air gradually alleviated the Prophetess’ expression with each deep breath she took.

“I was at the castle,” she murmured.

“Oh?” Calia let go of her and the two trekked back to the Sun Temple.

“When I was helping the mercenary Jespar,” she clarified, “I did a little exploring before we came to Ark and I remembered seeing the castle in the distance when I passed Three River Watch.”

            “ _Take your time. I have things to take care of myself but I wouldn’t venture too close to the castle if I were you,” he had said. “It’s abandoned and Lost Ones have taken residence in there,” he lowered his voice, “plus it’s haunted.”_

 _“Undead roam its halls and you’re worried about_ ghosts _?”_

_“I’m not a superstitious man, not usually. But I know ghosts and haunts can have a more powerful effect than a shambling corpse.”_

_“Sounds like there’s a story behind that observation.”_

_“One for another time my fair lady. But seriously, be careful if you really are going to go there. I’d hate for you to die without at least curing your fever first.”_

They continued up the steps into the Noble Quarter.

“I didn’t go in. I got as far as the courtyard before I felt…something.”

            _Dread sunk into her stomach to the point where she thought she would vomit. A shriek rose all around her. The courtyard was overgrown with vines and bushes. Yet something stirred them, opposite of the wind. Another shriek. It sounded of despair. Vengeance. A deadly promise. Her body seized as something hot washed over body and threatened to choke her. Tears stung her eyes and she fell to one knee._

_For a moment, just a moment, she saw a woman swathed in a red, tattered dress. Mouth open, unhinged and shrieking._

_Leave. Leave. LEAVE._

_She didn’t look back._

“Something?”

“A presence that threatened to overwhelm but didn’t quite take form.”

In a way, Leanara felt the Ash Widow was vindicated but sorrowful that such a being had to exist in the first place. She wondered how many other specters truly roamed the lands from the misfortune that befell them. But without magic, they were truly lost to the in-between.

Calia’s eyebrows were raised. A vague response but she didn’t press. When they reached the gates to the Temple, she stopped her.

“If I may, I take it your previous experience with nobility wasn’t a good one?”

Lea looked at her with a bemused smile, “That obvious huh?”

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you frown so much. Even when I told you about my past. Your aura…”

She sighed, “I was a step down from a servant. A slave. To a rich family in Ostian. If servants were treated this badly here then you can imagine how slaves were.”

“I see. You don’t have to continue if you don’t want to.”

“No, it’s only fair you know?” She took a deep breath. “The ladies of the house were kind to us. Well, mostly. But the men, both father and son were incredibly devoted to The Creator’s Temple.” The itch returned but she kept her hands to her sides. Focused on the tight curl of her fingers. “The slightest error could mean a severe beating or worse. The ladies, of course, did nothing.” She touched the scar beneath her left eye. The mark trailed down her cheek like a permanent tear track.

She sniffed. She didn’t want to cry, not in front of the Keepers. Not in front of Calia. There had been enough crying in the muddy streets. She took in a shaky breath and exhaled.

“Anyway, I suppose I got lucky when the house was raided by the Temple because of _their_ infidelity. Many of the slaves, me included, scattered. And if it wasn’t for Sirius,” she choked on his name, “I would have been dead in the streets.”

Gods, how long had it been since she had truly thought of him since the events on Roccio’s ship?

_Murderer. Would your ghost be haunting me? Unseeing, unforgiving?_

Calia looked sympathetically at her and reached for her hands. She gently squeezed them in reassurance.

“Thanks for the walk Sa’ira. I’m sorry if I caused you distress.”

Sa’ira? That was an interesting title. She would ask her later what that meant. She managed a small smile and returned the gesture before dropping their hands.

“I guess it was my turn for gloomy talk huh?”

Calia returned the small smile and they opened the doors into the pristine overlook of the Temple.


	4. Arveldhiin the Wanderer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “On my travels, I got my hands on a book series of the old Endralean Archmagister Gawayn Girathû. In those he lists several legends about certain creatures which roam the lands since quite some time – who knows, perhaps one or another has some truth in it?” 
> 
> A trek through a place called the "Dark Valley" is bound to go well.

“You certainly take us to the most cheery of places…”

“You agreed to come help me before the war summit,” Leanara replied, gently nudging Jespar’s ribs with her elbow.

“That I did my Fair Lady. But the Dark Valley isn’t some place you can just take a stroll through.”

Indeed, the Dark Valley led up to its ominous title. The strip of earth lay nestled under the Frostcliff Mountains. Tall, gnarled trees blotted out the sun. A mist lingered on the forest floor which hid the constant danger of Lost Ones and wood nymphs. A chill never left her bones and she swore she could hear the quiet whispers of the many dead that lingered here.

“The sooner we get back to Andrasta, the sooner we can leave this accursed place,” piped a third voice.

And thus the reason for the trek into the Dark Valley. Attached to Jespar’s back by makeshift harness, was a portrait painting of a man. Or rather the man trapped within the painting.

_Erika Braveblood, owner of Ark’s Art Museum (“A gallery for the noble snobs. And here you are helping the owner. No plight escapes your eye does it?”), petitioned for Lea to look for her mother within the Dark Valley. Her mother being the chief source of income with her paintings but the young woman did sound concerned for her well-being. Jespar, who was in between jobs, agreed to accompany Lea...after promising to buy the silver-haired mercenary a night of drinks. Finding Andrasta in her old watermill was surprisingly simple. They two took a Myrad to the Frostcliff Tavern, north of valley, and trekked south. Naturally, the undead barred the path but they were suspiciously little in number. Andrasta herself was a well-spoken woman with a pension for magic, if the flame elemental at the door was anything to go by, and an otherwise gracious host to the pair. The reason for her silence to Erika was due to a raid on her home when she attempted to paint a couple that approached her workshop._

_“Not unlike you two,” she said with steel in her voice, “I don’t need to worry about yet another attempt on my life do I?”_

_“Fear not my fair lady, we aren’t here to rob you. It would discredit us to your daughter if we betrayed that trust wouldn’t it?” replied Jespar, a charming smile ever present on his face._

_“Indeed it would. Very well, if the tracks were anything to go by, the thieves took my painting to Throatstone Quarry near Fogville. I’ll be here in the meantime. And please, don’t get yourselves killed out there.”_

_Getting out the Valley and into the quarry had been relatively simple as well. Bandits littered the premises like flies to a corpse but combining Lea’s growing efficiency with a bow and Jespar’s quick reflexes with twin daggers made short work of the gang within the quarry. At least for those without magic. The wild mages were trickier and they’d be nursing a few burns by the time they returned to Ark._

_Yet the most interesting part of the job had to be the talking painting._

_The man’s name was Rhys. A witch hunter whose soul was trapped within the painting. He and his partner, now dead thanks to bandits, had been tasked with killing Andrasta after discovering that she killed nobles by trapping their souls into her paintings. A psionicist who could manipulate them and leave no trace back to her when she was finished. Well, up until now._

_“Lyf and I pretended to be buyers. Andrasta painted me first but by the time we knew what was happening it was too late. The binding isn’t complete but if you kill Andrasta, I think I know of a spell to put myself back into my body.”_

_The news was startling to Lea but Jespar nodded slowly to the revelation._

_“Would make sense as to why a seemingly old woman lives all alone in a part of the country with a bloody history,” he said, as if it made perfect, total sense. “Just as particular environments or contaminated areas harm mages, some can be beneficial and enhance them. An entropist in a dark forest doesn’t sound that far-fetched now does it?”_

Their trek back into the forest felt different than when they entered it the first time. The paths they originally took were nowhere in sight. The farther they went in the darker it got. Lea noted some large fungal trees in the distance and stopped everyone.

“Isn’t that the Whisperwood? We’re going in the complete opposite direction.” She could already feel the pressure mounting in her temple from the spores, agitating her fever.

“Yeah…come one let’s go back and try to retrace our—“

“What’s this? Two lost deer in this part of the forest…”

Jespar frowned and swung his head looking for the source of the new voice. Lea’s arm gripped his forearm in a tight vice. Then he saw him. A hooded man, hunched and stalking towards them from behind the twisted trees.

“Who says we’re lost mysir?” Jespar replied, slowly, cautiously. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end.

The hermit laughed, a reedy, wheezing sound. He continued forward. His gait too smooth.

“Perfect. Just perfect…”

“What? Who is that? What’s going on?” Rhys’ voice squeaked from Jespar’s back.

The old man paused for a moment, head tilted to this new voice. Only two he saw but the new voice surely did not come from the woman that was clinging so tightly to the man. No matter. **Mine**. It’d been too long since his last hunt.

Without warning the old man lunged. Not for Jespar but for Lea. She yelped and the two leapt away from each other. The hermit brandished a wicked looking blade, swinging it with deft accuracy. The blade missed them both by a hair. He continued after Lea, snarling, lunging once more. She ducked again. In panic, her hands flared with magic. Fire poured out from her palms, halting her attacker for just a moment. In the back of her mind she heard Rhys screaming.

Twin blades struck out, catching the man in the back. The split second pause was just enough to surprise him. He loosed a pained growl then shook violently to get the mercenary off. One dagger remained embedded.

Then, the old man _grew_. He dropped his blade and fell on all fours. Back hunched farther. Clothes tearing apart. Flesh ripped apart in a nasty, wet sounds. Black fur sprouted where pale flesh once was. The dagger that was embedded by the shoulder blade wobbled then fell as the wound repaired. His wrinkled face, morphed, extended into a muzzle full of jagged teeth. Eyes burned yellow, ringed in a red blood haze.

A pause. The transformation complete then—

A howl. Long, piercing. Down to the marrow of their bones.

The beast swung its head, sniffing. It turned towards the one who dared mark him with such small, insignificant weapons. Its lips curled, quivered in a warning growl, then warbled into a roar.

Jespar scrambled to his feet. The horrendous sound jolting him to move. He dove for his fallen weapon as the beast leapt for him. He felt air brush past his head. The claws missing him by hairs. Instinct fought fear as his hand gripped his weapon. He rolled back to his feet just to see the beast charging at him again. He saw only the black beast and its yellow eyes. A yell, female, seemed so far in the distance.

An arrow hissed and struck the beast in the side but it made no sign of stopping. Jespar leapt out of the way again. Not in time. The strong palm of the beast caught his midsection before he could take off completely. He could feel the tips of its claws digging into his sides. For a moment, he felt weightless, trees rushing around him in a blur and then—

His back hit something. Hard. Enough to knock the air out of his lungs. Enough to feel sharp pain shoot up his spine. His head knocked back and he saw stars. He tried gasping for air. Something to clear his head but a weight settled on his chest. It slowly pushed on him, keeping him from breathing. Hot, rancid air blew over his face. He thought he heard a crack.

The beast jerked, pressing then releasing its hold slightly. Then again. And again. Each time the pressure lifting more and more. He could breathe again but it still held him. His vision cleared enough to see slim wood sticking out from the beast’s neck and shoulders. It roared towards the offender.

Blades, where were his blades? Gone again. He squirmed in the beasts grip. Reached for the one that he kept concealed beneath his coat. Another arrow hissed. This one seemed to glow and the impact made a small explosion against the beast’s hide. The world shook and he was finally released. The weight lifted and he grasped for his blade.

One would say that it is not wise to reach for the beast. But that’s what he did. Once more a distraction, a more painful one, provided him an opportunity to sink his blade into its face. He let out a yell of his own when the blade made purchase. Blood spurt from the wound. He let go and fell back. Energy depleted. Pain rippling through his back and torso.

The beast reared back, howling and scratching at the dagger embedded in its eye. Jespar struggled to see the rest but another burst of light bounced against the beast. A final arrow hissed through the air, flame tipped and bursting. Fur singed and flesh…well, exploded from impact. He was sure to be covered in gore. He tasted coppery, bitter blood on his tongue.

The ground shook as the beast fell back. Finally, hopefully, dead.

Breathe in. Breathe out. Pain flared through his chest. Right. Broken ribs probably.

“Jespar! Jespar! Gods are you okay?!”

Small, warm hands took his face then grazed his chest.

“Mm’fine. Broken ribs I think…”

He tried lifting his head but it felt too heavy. More warmth, this time filling his chest.

Breathe in. Breathe out. It was easier this time. Breathe in. Breathe out. If he ingested any of that, would he become that thing too? Breathe in. Breathe out.

“O-okay…can you g-get up?”

He wondered how bad he looked. Probably like shit. He did as he was told and sat up. He felt his chest then looked at Lea. She had obviously healed him, the pain lessoned and he could breathe steadily. Whatever comment he had died on his lips as he looked at his savior. Her olive skin had turned sallow and sickly. Blood ran freely from one nostril and her breathing was labored. Her face pinched with pain and she massaged her head.

“Oh fuck. Where’s your Ambrosia?” He reached for her, looked for the satchel she always carried and noticed it missing. Not good. Panic replaced the warmth in his chest.

She sniffed, coughed then pointed to a nearby tree.

“Is anyone there? Please, someone answer me! What the hell happened?! ANYONE!”

Right. Rhys. Up until now he wasn’t even aware the man in the painting had been screaming at them. He’d tossed the harness off after the initial attack by…whatever that was. Ironically, Lea’s satchel was beside the painting and Jespar frantically frisked the contents for Ambrosia. Lea sank against the tree next to Rhys.

“F-fine. All fine.”

“By the name of the sun, what the fuck happened? Who attacked you?”

“Don’t think you’d believe us if we told you,” was Jespar’s snapped reply. Blazes how much could this woman carry in here?

“I’m stuck in a fucking painting in the middle of some gods forsaken woods in a gods forsaken country. Try me!”

Jespar found what he was looking for, a small white phial, and handed it to Lea. She took it, drank, shuddered from the bitter taste, then closed her eyes to let the mixture do its work.

“A-a lyc-canthrope?” The pounding in her head subsided. She swiped the blood from her nose and looked between the two men. Jespar, likewise, cleaned his face with a spare cloth. She'd nearly fainted when she saw he was drenched in blood. Thankfully, most of it not his.

“What? Like a werewolf?” Rhys let out an exasperated sigh. “I shouldn’t even be surprised given where this witch lives. Perhaps it’s her pet or something.”

Cases of lycanthropy were rare. There was one such tale of a man cursed with it in Enderal…was that who they ran in to? At the moment, Jespar didn’t care. The knot in his chest loosed as color returned to her cheeks.

“I think I’m okay now…”

Jespar helped her to her feet. The world spun for a moment and she fell face first into his chest. 

“Well…” he chuckled, feeling more relief than he probably should have, “maybe more than okay…” She was such a small woman…his chin could easily rest atop her head. No. That wouldn't do at all.

She jerked away from him, turning away to hide a blush. She'd drink her fair share of the tavern when they got back.

“Whatever…we should hurry before something worse jumps us.”

And that was something both men could agree on.


End file.
